Page 81 of All That Glitters

I drop my keys in the bowl on one of the long tables in the foyer, and the clang echoes through the house. I have to let her go and trust she’ll be safe without me there to watch over her every move. I’ll—shit, I’ll have Sherry hire a couple of bodyguards to tail Empire and make sure no one comes near her, especially me.

The kitchen looks like it’s been ransacked, the entire mansion devoid of life already. I have no idea how long she’s been gone, but there’s a physical presence lacking. A vitality, so much more so than when her parents died.

It’s useless to call out for her again.

Useless, and I still find my lips forming her name, although no sound escapes.

It’s not like we could have been anything anyway. It doesn’t matter how many dreams I’ve had where the two of us make a go of it, dreams of a future where luck finally twists in my favor and I get the happy ending I’ve always wanted but never trusted myself to speak out loud.

Me and her. As if she’d be content with a grumpy old bastard like me.

Pipe dreams are useless.

I can’t stop myself from walking down the hall toward her room and checking it. I notice the drawers pulled out and the closet doors open where she’d ransacked them in a hurry. Oh yeah, she’s not happy. Wherever she is, wherever she’s going, she’s hurt and she has every right to it.

Disappointment burns in my veins, even though I knew what to expect.

The bed is unmade, but the sheets aren’t as tangled as I've seen them in the past. Did she sleep well last night? Had I missed her screams, or had there been none?

What did she think when she woke up to find me gone? Another betrayal. I add it to my mental list, even though there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to make up for all of it.

I’m worse than a bad man. I’m a piece of shit, and I deserve every bad thing that’s coming my way.

I killed a man in front of her.

What kind of sick asshole does that?

How can I expect her to understand that I did what I did for her?

If losing her is the cost of her safety, then I can’t regret a single step. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, even if Parker hadn’t had it coming. What wouldn’t I do for Empire Stone?

I’d even sell my own soul.

Shoulders slumping forward, I head to the office without seeing anything in front of me. The stench of bleach hits me hard. I pulled on a couple of strings last night and had several guys I’ve worked come to do a deep clean during the night.

The interior has been scrubbed thanks to my minions. Blood and guts have never bothered me, and yet the thought of sullying this space sits wrong. I’m too used to it, I think as I sink into the chair, to even give a shit at this point.

But I know my guys and the quality of work they’ve done in the past. Seems their standards haven’t slipped a bit. If they’d been surprised to hear from me, they never said a word.

For a long moment, I stare at the wall with my hands laced together in front of me, getting my thoughts in order.

Empire is gone. She’s entitled to her space, but I need to make sure she understands that she is still contractually obligated to finish filming for Wretched. There’s no choice. Hopefully, we’ll be able to work out a compromise where I leave her alone on sets and we handle all communication through email.

In a professional way. As her manager and… “agent.”

We crossed the line so long ago, there is nothing left of it at this point. Still, this film is important for both our sakes. If everything goes according to plan, she should be able to finish filming in the next few months, and then she’ll truly be free of me, without any strings attached.

I’ll move out of the house so she feels comfortable coming back here. It’s her parents’ place, after all. I moved in to make the adjustment a bit easier for her, so she’d feel less alone.

I’ve still got my bachelor pad in the city. Going back won’t be a problem, and she gets her home to herself again. I crack my fingers one by one, listening to them pop as the laptop boots up. That’s what things have become between us. No more heat, no more life. No more holding myself back. Only an email, from one professional to another.

The headache isn’t going away, but at least it’s not getting any worse. A small blessing.

My meeting with Stanic this morning feels like it happened years ago instead of hours.

Once the laptop lights up, I log into my email and groan, shoving aside my feelings for Empire to focus solely on the facts of business. Her obligations and mine, a way to word it so she knows she can come home and won’t have to see me.

I wouldn’t want to look at my face either.

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